A Day at the Races

By the time the show was drawing to a close, Racetrack was desperate.  He had to speak to her again. He wouldn’t let her forget him, not now. The chorus had performed two numbers earlier in the show, and had backed a number of the other performers -  now they were leaving the stage after supporting Medda in her rendition of ‘Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me A Bow-Wow’. They certainly earned their pay, he’d give them that. He watched Medda as she stood on stage, lapping up the attentions of her audience. Just the chancers to go – second rate or first time performers used to shoo the punters out the door – and then he would try to catch Jeannie before she left the theatre. Davey be damned.

He must have missed Medda’s announcement of the names of this week’s first chancer – but he certainly didn’t miss it when Jeannie walked back out onto the stage. Back in her ankle length skirt and blouse, she was hardly recognisable as one of the be-frilled chorus girl from the previous act. The audience were restless and many were getting up to leave – but Racetrack had no such thoughts in his head. He was transfixed – somehow, underneath the bright stage lights and in her normal streetclothes, she was even more beautiful than ever.

She walked up to the shabby old upright piano on stage left, where one of the orchestra had sat down. She smiled at him – Racetrack’s fists clenched enviously – as the man began to pick out a tune on the grimey keys. He was good enough not to chase the slower audience members from their seats, and a few of the exiting men stopped in the aisles to listen.

Then Jeannie opened her mouth to sing. And that was when the magic happened.

Leaning against that old upright piano, her hair ruffled and her cheeks pink, she looked the picture of innocence. But that voice. Rich and husky, it sounded like whiskey and cigarettes, evoking memories of kiss-swollen lips and languid sex on sunny mornings in the suddenly slack-jawed audience. It almost felt…rude to listen to her, so personal, so private did she sound . Race was struck with a bolt of jealousy that lodged deep in his belly, unable to bear the idea that two hundred other men were hearing those low, pillowtalk tones along with him.

“It was fascination

I know

Seeing you alone

With the moonlight above

Then I touch your hand

And next moment

I kiss you

Fascination turned to love…”

She held out the last note, closing her eyes in what looked like rapture. When she opened them, the theatre was silent. Under the hot stage lights, Jeannie swayed a little on her feet, unsure of the crowd’s feelings. Nervously, she bobbed a curtsey, and turned to leave the stage. There was still not a murmur from the audience. Racetrack saw her chin go up as she walked slowly towards him – and it was that which pulled him from his reverie. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he gave a long whistle of appreciation. She looked up then, and caught his eye – he saw her smile as he attempted to make up for the silent crowd by himself, clapping and hollering like a lunatic. He beamed back at her, echoing her widening grin as the rest of the audience joined in, shaking loose some of their lewder fantasies and stamping their feet for more. She turned to face them again then, and gave them a wave, prompting a new wave of wolf whistles. Eyes sparkling, she curtsied once more, then left the stage. Quickly, she was surrounded by surprised stage hands and performers – clearly she had surprised more than just her audience tonight. She shrugged off the compliments however, and turned her head as if looking for someone. As indeed she was – when her eyes met Racetrack’s, her eyes crinkled and she gave him a wave. Firing the odd quip or two, she disengaged herself from the little group, and picked her way towards his over the coils of rope.

Race had thought she would go straight to the chorus dressing room to join the other girls, and had planned to intercept her as she left the theatre – he certainly hadn’t expected her to make his job a great deal simpler by heading straight for him! But there she was, looking right at him – he knew she was, because he had checked quickly over his shoulder and there was no one else there. Unless of course she took an avid interest in fire buckets and torn velvet curtains.

“Thank you for that.”

“Who, me?” Race hoped the smile on his face didn’t look too ridiculous – it felt like he might sprain a cheek muscle any minute.

“Yes, you.” Those blue eyes crinkled again.

“Any time.”

“You’d whistle at me any time?”

Race was no good at this – never had been. With his boys, he was all mouth, all sarcasm and quick retorts. But put his opponent in a skirt, and his lighting fast tongue turned sluggish.

“Ya have to ask?” Fuck. Subtle, Race. Watch as she walks away now – and who’d blame her?

She looked at him seriously, this time. Her gaze travelled over his face like fingertips, so nearly could he feel it. She shifted her feet slightly, and she looked at the ground. All of a sudden she was uncomfortable, and he could have kicked himself.

“Racetrack?”

“Yeah”

“Would you…would you walk me home?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

Up came the head, and back came the smile, like sun after rain. “Dandy. I’ll get my coat shall I?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go anywhere, now!”

And with that she turned neatly on her heel and practically ran off to the dressing room, leaving Racetrack gasping against the wall.

 

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Lyrics from 'Fascination' by Fermo Dante Marchetti (music) & Maurice de Féraudy (lyrics)